Out of Reach
by StellarWing
Summary: <html><head></head>[Diablo 3 - Post RoS] Lyndon was certain his life couldn't get any worse, but fate always had a funny way of proving him wrong.</html>
1. Broken

This is a cross-post from Archive of Our Own. If you'd prefer to read it there feel free to look me up on AO3 (my name is the same).

All comments are welcome, whatever their length or level of criticism. I am always looking to improve, and it's nice to know people are reading. :)

* * *

><p>The world was in chaos.<p>

Malthael was dead and the tormented spirits were finally allowed to rest, but many of them were still trapped in horrible, unnatural bodies, destroying the countryside in their anger over being forced to remain in the mortal world. Many major cities had been practically obliterated by Malthael's most powerful minions, and the small towns didn't have strong enough defenses to fight off even the relatively weak remaining enemies.

There were so many people who needed saving that they didn't know where to start.

The small band of warriors and craftsmen barely even had time to celebrate defeating the Aspect of Death before they were faced with even more work to do. Indeed, none of them had felt like celebrating anyway; Diablo had been freed, and no one knew where he had gone or what he might do next. Valla had been absolutely furious when she realized the implications of Malthael's destruction of the Black Soulstone, and even Tyrael had seemed afraid of the demon hunter in that moment. So far no one had heard word of Diablo causing any trouble, but that was a comfort to none of them; it was only a matter of time.

Tyrael, Lorath, and what else remained of the Horadrim went to scour the land for the Lord of Terror, leaving it up to the rest of the group to decide what they would do. Valla wanted to leave immediately to search for anyone who needed their aid, and to help free the trapped souls. Eirena and Kormac agreed to come without hesitation, and Haedrig made a show of sounding reluctant to get dragged around the world again but nobody seemed convinced by it. Myriam made a mysterious comment about how she knew they would need her, and nobody quite understood Shen's answer but he left with them all the same. Even Brycen insisted on coming, and although Haedrig was initially against it, he relented when he realized that in the current state of the world it would be more dangerous to leave him alone.

Lyndon followed along because he had nowhere else to go. Well, that wasn't _exactly_ true; he still needed to find Rea and figure out what truly happened to his brother, but he had no idea what he would discover and he wanted Valla there in case things got messy. But Valla would never pass by a suffering person without stopping to help, and there were plenty of them between where they were and Kingsport.

That was definitely the reason he didn't split off on his own to confront Rea, and it was definitely _not_ because he was completely terrified of what he would learn.

None of it really made a difference, anyway. His brother, the only family he had ever known and the only person to truly give a damn about him, was dead, and it was because of him. Details hardly mattered.

Slaying the revenants at least gave him something to do, but no matter how many souls he helped free it did nothing to ease the guilt that slowly rotted his heart.

Surely there was nothing left for life to take from him.

* * *

><p>The group had barely made it two days from Westmarch before they encountered a small village being terrorized by the remnants of Malthael's army. The villagers not killed in the initial attack had managed to barricade themselves in a church, but had the traveling heroes not come by when they did the monsters surely would have gotten to them eventually. With an efficiency born from countless battles, they began to dispatch of the undead menace. These enemies were nothing compared to angels and the lords of hell, it should have been easy.<p>

Lyndon should have known he would find a way to screw it up.

Perhaps it was from thinking about Edlin's death, or from the bottle of wine he had snuck earlier, or just simple incompetence; whatever it was, Lyndon was distracted for the briefest of moments, and on the battlefield that was one of the most dangerous mistakes one could make.

Lyndon heard an unnatural howl, but by then it was far too late to act; something large collided with him and threw him onto his back, sending his crossbow out of his grip and skidding across blood-stained grass. Before he could even think of retrieving it he was pinned to the ground, staring up into the glowing blue maw of a horrible beast. It may have been a dog once, but it was twisted, muscles bulging under bone-white skin and horn-like protrusions jutting from the sides of its head. Terrible claws dug into his chest, and Lyndon knew in an instant that ribs had been crushed. He tried to cry out for help, but the fall had winded him, and he could manage nothing but an ineffectual wheeze. He was defenseless.

Great globs of saliva dripped between the creature's fangs, and he could swear the damn thing was _grinning_ at him.

Two rows of serrated teeth tried to chomp down on his head, and in a final act of desperation Lyndon threw up his arms to stave off the fatal bite. Massive jaws clamped down around his left arm and the beast jerked its head back, ripping the limb from its socket with the terrible sound of muscles tearing and bones snapping like brittle twigs. Lyndon felt no pain, just a numbing shock as he watched the beast bite down on the stolen limb, sending bits of flesh and blood and bone falling around him like a dark rain.

A flurry of crossbow bolts tore into the beast, sending it flying backwards off of him as it exploded into a mass of glowing blue blood. There was a bright flash of light as a soul escaped the mangled form, leaving Lyndon momentarily blinded.

Lyndon blinked rapidly and when his vision returned Valla was kneeling over him, eyes burning bright from battle-fury, making her expression impossible to read. She looked over him quickly, then hissed in frustration as another beast let out a cry nearby, forcing her to turn away from him to dispatch of it. When it lay dead she set down her crossbows and tossed a device towards the remaining enemies. As soon as it hit the ground it unfolded neatly into a small turret, firing bolts into anything evil that wandered too close.

The demon hunter returned her attention to Lyndon and shoved a potion into his hand, commanding him to "_Drink_." He choked down the red liquid with difficulty, still struggling to recover his breath. Valla tore a strip of fabric from his already ruined coat and hastily tied it around the stump where his arm should have been, attempting to stop the blood hemorrhaging from the wound.

And _gods_ there was a lot of blood. Lyndon suddenly felt very dizzy, and he had no idea if it was from blood loss or the horror of staring at the awful emptiness where his left arm had once been. The combination of the potion and the make-shift tourniquet thankfully stopped the bleeding, but the gashes on his chest still burned and every intake of air caused a sharp pain to shoot through his body. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and his hand clenched into a tight fist.

Lyndon heard shouting and the unmistakable clank of armor, and moments later Kormac came rushing into view. Valla took one more look at Lyndon and then grabbed her weapons and sprang back into battle, leaving the templar to take her place at his side. His eyes trailed after her and he caught sight of Eirena who had taken up a defensive position between them and the attackers.

Kormac had his hands over Lyndon's chest and was muttering something in a language he didn't understand, but experience told him that it was a healing incantation. A glowing light momentarily engulfed them, and to Lyndon's extraordinary relief it dulled the pain to bearable levels.

Kormac glanced worriedly over at the girls for a moment before turning back to his injured companion, grabbing him and pulling him to his feet. A combination of shock and dizziness made it difficult for Lyndon to walk, and Kormac practically had to carry him deeper into town where their less battle-inclined friends were waiting.

Haedrig cursed loudly as he saw them approach, and for the first time Lyndon thought about how truly wretched he must have looked at that moment. Though his wounds were closed his clothing was shredded and he was coated in blood and gore, his own and otherwise. Not to mention he was _missing a goddamn arm oh Akarat's mercy is this really happening_.

With a surprising gentleness Haedrig took Lyndon's arm and draped it over his shoulders, supporting his weight so that the templar was free to spin around and dash back toward the ever-present sounds of combat.

Lyndon suddenly felt ill, and he retched onto the ground in front of him.

"Easy, lad," Haedrig said in a low voice, "Your friends will take care of the rest. I'll take you somewhere you can lie down."

Gods, he had never heard the blacksmith sound so amiable before. He must have looked even worse than he thought.

Haedrig slowly walked him over to his wagon, Lyndon staggering alongside him as best he could. As he shoved the door open Brycen looked up from where he was seated in the corner and cried out in horror upon spotting Lyndon. Haedrig shot him a dark look and he silenced immediately, blushing in embarrassment.

"Make yourself useful boy and go fetch Myriam," Haedrig ordered, his tone far less kind than it had been a minute ago.

Brycen needed no more encouragement, and shot past them out of the wagon.

The world began to get hazy for Lyndon. He must have been brought over to the bed, because he was currently lying in it. Then Myriam was there, smiling at him kindly and handing him a small teacup he was almost certain he would drop. He drank the contents of it in a single gulp, and had only a handful of seconds to wonder at the bitter taste before consciousness slipped away from him.


	2. Useless

It took far longer than any of them had hoped, but finally the last of the wayward souls had been freed from their mortal forms. As soon as Valla was certain the threat had passed, she turned to her two companions and addressed them, voice hard with urgency.

"Kormac, Eirena, get to the church. Let the people know the streets are safe, and help out in any way you can. They may have injured that need treating."

Both nodded in understanding, and Kormac immediately took off toward the church but Eirena held back for a second longer, looking at Valla imploringly.

"You will come let us know how he is, yes?" she asked, eyes wide with worry.

The mention of Lyndon brought up an unwelcome wave of concern within her, but she pushed it aside as best she could in order to answer Eirena with confidence.

"I will come meet you as soon as I know the situation. Go!"

Eirena nodded again and ran to catch up with the templar, leaving Valla to set off in the direction of their caravan.

As she made her way hastily through the town, the rage that always burned inside of her during combat slowly became replaced by fear, the likes of which she had not experienced since she had watched Leah get sacrificed in a horrible ritual to become Diablo's vessel. It was the guilt-ridden terror that someone else was going to die because she hadn't been attentive enough. Her nightmares were already haunted by fast-moving currents and snow-covered forts; she wasn't sure how much more her conscience could take.

When she finally arrived at the circle of craftsmen's wagons she spotted Myriam outside, unpacking her equipment as if she already knew the battle had been won and she would be needed soon. She looked up and smiled in an understanding way, speaking before Valla even had the chance to.

"You worry too much, celsa," she admonished gently, "He will live. He is with Haedrig now."

Valla was a little put off by not even being allowed to speak, but she had too many greater concerns to trouble herself with a bit of rudeness. She had only taken a step towards Haedrig's wagon, however, before something disturbing occurred to her and she froze. Her fear hardened back into anger, and she rounded on the mystic, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"_You knew_," she hissed accusingly.

Myriam did not look the least bit threatened, but her smile turned sad. "I know a great many things, celsa."

Valla breathed deeply, trying to calm her raging heart. This was not the time to argue with Myriam over the morality of keeping her visions to herself. There were more pressing matters to attend to. She turned away from the older woman and made her way swiftly over to the blacksmith's wagon, completely ignoring Brycen who was sitting just outside of it, eyeing her nervously.

Valla threw open the door with a bit more force than she had intended, but it didn't seem to faze Haedrig who was calmly sharpening a sword on the other side of the room. He had likely heard her yelling and expected the intrusion. He looked up at her and nodded grimly before returning to his task.

Lyndon was on Haedrig's bed, lying on his back and evidently in a deep sleep. In a few quick strides she was at his bedside, and she frowned, not sure if it was a good sign that he was so unresponsive.

Haedrig spoke then, likely noticing her expression. "Myriam gave him something to help him sleep. He'll likely be up around nightfall." He paused for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to continue. "I'm no healer, but he looks stable enough to me."

Valla nodded to him, relieved that Lyndon's life did not appear to be in danger. She carefully pulled back the top half of the covers, noting that someone had removed his shredded clothing and cleaned his wounds. Without all the caked-on blood he looked to be in much better shape, but his bare chest gave her a clear view of the extent of his injuries. Six gashes marred his chest where the beast had sunk its claws into him, and though the cuts were not long they were noticeably deep. She had no doubt that each and every one would leave a scar.

Her eyes trailed over to his left shoulder, and saw that her emergency tourniquet had been replaced with proper bandaging. No blood seemed to have leaked through the cloth, so he was not at risk of bleeding out.

Valla was a bit concerned about what he would think of himself when he awoke, but there would be time to worry about that later. He was safe, that would have to be enough for now. The others were no doubt worried, and may have need of her help.

Valla was about to ask Haedrig to come find her when Lyndon was awake, but thought better of it; it was possible they would need the blacksmith's assistance in resituating the townspeople, and she highly doubted he wanted to be stuck here all day watching the sleeping man. Instead she let out a sharp whistle, and in seconds a large gray wolf come bounding in through the already-open door, coming to a stop beside her and looking up at her expectantly.

While holding the creature's gaze, Valla pointed to Lyndon's sleeping form. "_Watch_," she commanded.

The wolf sat down obediently, turning his head away from her to stare at his charge. She knew Haedrig wasn't fond of animals hanging around his equipment, but he said nothing as she patted the creature on the head before turning and leaving the wagon.

* * *

><p>Lyndon awoke feeling groggy and slow, and immediately recognized the sensation of having been drugged. Confused and desperately trying to remember what happened, he turned his head to get a look at his surroundings, only to find himself staring directly into a pair of ominously glowing green eyes framing a muzzle with a mouth full of savage-looking fangs. His first delirious thought was that one of his many enemies had drugged him and tossed him into a pit filled with terrible predators, but then the wolf howled in excitement and he recognized it as part of Valla's ever-growing menagerie. He would need to have a talk with her about keeping the damn beasts away from him so he didn't have a heart attack.<p>

The wolf gave another short howl before turning and nudging open a nearby door, allowing moonlight to spill in and illuminate the otherwise dark room. The canine quickly disappeared outside, leaving Lyndon alone to figure out where he was. He quickly spotted an anvil, a furnace, and several hammers that told him it had to be Haedrig's wagon, but why in Akarat's name was he _here_?

Lyndon tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in both his sides forced him to immediately lie back down. Broken ribs, he knew from experience. It would be a painful recovery, but access to potions and healing magic would make it significantly shorter than it had been the first time he had dealt with it back in Kingsport. That was a six weeks he never wanted to relive. But how in the Burning Hells had he managed to break-

Oh. _Oh_.

And then he remembered, and a quick glance over at his left side confirmed that it hadn't just been a nightmare.

_Shit_.

Lyndon groaned and pressed his hand against his forehead, trying to stall the headache that was creeping up on him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. After all, it had been his _left_ arm that was taken, and he did most things with his right anyway. And while women weren't big on deformities, he could probably play up the fact that he was heroically wounded in battle, that was sure to get at least some of them going.

Then his eyes happened to fall on a weapon rack on the far wall, devoid of anything except for a single crossbow, and it hit him-

_He could no longer fight_.

He felt a sick, twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach as the full implications of the realization sank in. Everyone in their group had a purpose: Haedrig kept their equipment in top shape, Shen could cut valuable gems, Myriam provided powerful enchantments, and the rest of them were warriors. Even Brycen was coming into his own, taking some heat off of their overworked blacksmith.

Lyndon had... other talents, but his ability to keep up with his friends in battle was the only one they didn't disapprove of. Anything else would only serve to alienate him.

He wasn't bad with a dagger, but the tricks he learned were focused around disabling enemies just long enough so that he could get away from them. He was nowhere near talented enough with a blade to engage in the kind of battles they fought on a near-daily basis. He had spent his life learning to keep his distance; he simply wasn't cut out for being on the front lines.

He was _useless_ to them.

Despair washed over him, and it was at that moment he heard footsteps as someone entered the room. He sighed; he was _not_ in the mood to talk.

Knowing confrontation was inevitable, he turned toward the door to see Valla approaching him, her wolf running excited circles around her. She reached into a pouch and pulled out a bit of dried meat that she offered to the creature, which he snapped up hastily before turning and running back out into the night.

Valla took a quick glance around the room and located a lantern hanging above the door. She grabbed a small device off her belt that Lyndon knew was somehow designed to create sparks and used it to light the candle inside the enclosure.

She put the tool away and turned to Lyndon, examining him for a moment before speaking. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got my damn arm ripped off," he grumbled in response. "You didn't happen to bring anything with_ alcohol _in it, did you?"

She didn't look particularly pleased with his answer, though he always had a hard time reading her expression. Whatever the case, she chose not to respond, and instead took another step forward and began scrutinizing his injuries. His blanket had slid aside when he attempted to sit up and he never bothered to fix it, leaving him exposed down to his bellybutton.

"If you wanted to see me without a shirt on you could have just _asked_," he quipped, though his tone lacked the usual cheer he used when teasing his companions. He said it more because it felt like something he should say than because he was actually in the mood to banter.

Valla made a quiet "hmm" noise before lifting her gaze back up to meet his. "The remainder of the battle went well. There were no further casualties. The surviving townspeople have been able to reclaim their homes."

Lyndon didn't bother to respond; she had been pointedly ignoring everything he said up to that point anyway.

"There's food, if you want it," she continued, pointing to a small table directly beside the bed. "You should probably eat something."

Lyndon wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before, but sure enough there was a bowl on the table containing some kind of stew, as well as a cup that appeared to be filled with water. It must have been at least half a day since he last ate anything, but the thought of eating made him slightly nauseous.

"Was that all?" he asked, attempting to sound nonchalant and only partially succeeding.

He was almost certain she had caught the hitch in his voice, but she made no mention of it.

"Yes, unless you needed something else."

Lyndon was not at all fond of feeling like he needed to be taken care of, and frustration began building inside him. "No, I am _quite_ certain I can take it from here, thank you."

"Very well." Valla lingered for a moment longer before heading for the door, stopping and turning to address him once more before leaving. "Call if you need anything, someone will be nearby."

With that she finally left, closing the door carefully behind her.

The only remaining light was the orange glow of the lantern, which cast ugly looking shadows across the room. Lyndon was able to reach the water cup without having to move his injured midsection, but his hand was shaking and he managed to spill more of it on himself than he was able to drink. With an irritated sigh, he set the empty cup back down.

_Useless indeed_.

From outside, Lyndon could hear the muffled voices of his companions as they discussed their next course of action. He strained to understand what they were saying, but he could catch only bits of phrases here and there. It was as if they were already making plans without him.

Lyndon had never felt so alone.


	3. Phantom

Valla had learned at an early age that life wasn't fair. She had learned it when she could do nothing but watch in frozen terror as her parents were eviscerated before her eyes. Her mother and father, two of the most hardworking and kindhearted people imaginable, who had never desired anything but a simple life, savagely destroyed for no reason except that they were there. Any faith she'd had in a benevolent force looking out for humanity had died on the floor of her house along with them.

Nothing she had seen since then had done anything but strengthen her despair. She met demon hunters with stories almost identical to hers, watched women break as they were told their husbands would never return from battle, saw children killed in the streets by vile creatures that had no right to blight Sanctuary with their existence. And no matter how many times she witnessed injustice forced onto the innocent, it never became any easier to bear. Every stolen life, every destroyed home, every desperate prayer to a deaf god chipped away at her soul a little bit more.

More than anything it hurt her to see pain in the eyes of the people closest to her, the men and women who had stayed and traveled with her through all manners of Hell. A group that she would have called her family if the word did not terrify her so, for the one thing she was certain she could not survive was the loss of another one.

And of all the suffering she had seen them through, nothing had bitten as far down into her core as the death of Lyndon's brother. Memories of Halissa that she long thought under control were dredged to the surface, and stung as if she had just dragged her sister's bloated body from the river. She could see the same soul-crushing despair in his eyes, see him drowning in the same guilt of the belief that _It's all my fault_. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

Valla wanted more than anything to help, to take away even a fraction of the burden, but she knew that there were no words in the world that could ease the pain he was suffering. So she stayed mostly silent, and she watched, and she saw him throw himself into their battles with a vigor that only came from trying to forget. And she thought that maybe he would begin to recover, that he would use combat in the same way she had to channel the pain and keep moving forward.

Then he lost his arm, and now she worried.

He had nothing to do but think, and she knew thinking would be one of the hardest things for him to do right now. There was a great pain in him as well, both physical and mental, and she could see it slowly eating away at his spirit. He no longer teased or quipped, and barely spoke at all except when pressed to. For all the times she had rolled her eyes at his remarks or silenced him with a harsh word, she found herself missing the constant distraction from her own dark thoughts. Neither one of them had anything to gain from getting lost in their own minds.

Valla was not ready to lose anyone else, and she definitely wasn't going to sit around and watch Lyndon slowly break. There had to be something she could do, and she would find it.

* * *

><p>As soon as the lingering effects of the drug wore off, the pain began. It was a sort of burning sensation, unusual because it existed in a part of his body that should no longer have been able to feel anything at all.<p>

Lyndon had assumed the pain would subside as his body healed, but he became increasingly distressed as this did not seem to be the case. Even after his ribs had reformed themselves and the wounds on his chest closed into ugly scars, he was still plagued with the feeling that his left hand was clenched into a painfully tight fist, and nothing he did seemed to help. The sensation would leave on its own after a time, but would always return to torment him at seemingly random intervals.

Kormac had examined him multiple times and insisted that he was perfectly fine, to Lyndon's annoyance. "An injury of the mind" was the only explanation he could come up with for Lyndon's continuing discomfort, which neither comforted him nor made the pain any less real.

Lyndon couldn't decide which was worse, the chronic, untreatable pain in a limb that no longer existed, or the inescapable look of _pity_ that crossed the faces of anyone who looked at him.

There were few things in the world Lyndon despised more than pity. He could handle being mocked, scorned, ignored, even beaten - he was _used _to those - but pity was something he simply couldn't stomach. He would rather be hated than looked at like he was some pathetic, injured animal.

It had barely been two weeks, and he was already being driven insane by how _helpful_ everyone insisted on being. Any time he struggled to pick something up or put something on or _anything_, someone would be there in a moment to do it for him. It was utterly humiliating.

Worst of all was that most of the time he really did need the help. Between his missing arm and the sudden bouts of crippling pain he could barely function. He had never realized how much he used his left arm until it was gone, and now something as simple as dressing himself was another miserable reminder of how broken he was. More than once he found himself wishing the beast had just taken his head and been done with it.

For the first several days he had at least been able to drown his suffering in liquid comfort, but then he had downed the last bottle of whiskey he filched from Westmarch and they had been on the road ever since.

Now he had nothing to do but stare at the slowly darkening horizon as his companions prepared to camp for the night. He was getting cold, but he had left his jacket in one of the wagons and he couldn't be bothered to get up from where he was seated to go find it. It wasn't quite cold enough to be worth the effort, and besides, he hated the thing. It was black, a color he never really felt suited him, and a bit too small, but it was all they could find after his last one had been torn to shreds.

He involuntarily shivered slightly, and as if in response he heard quiet footsteps approaching from behind. It had to be Valla; no one else would tread so lightly even when there was no present threat.

Lyndon waited until she came up beside him before turning to look up at her, and was a bit startled to find her with his jacket draped over her arms. She wordlessly held the garment out to him, and he idly wondered if it was possible for nephalem to develop mind-reading powers.

He took the jacket from her a bit reluctantly, knowing he had no good excuse to refuse it, and with some maneuvering was able to get it on in fairly good time. He fumbled with some of the buttons, and he half expected her to jump in and offer to do it for him, but he was thankful when she remained silent and let him struggle through it on his own.

Feeling slightly better now that he was no longer shivering, he looked at Valla again and noticed that she was carrying a folded hand crossbow in front of her, unusual only because it clearly was not one of her regular ones. The ones she wielded were etched with so many enchantments he could barely see the color of the materials they were carved from, and inlaid with spectacular emeralds. This one was simple wood and string, nothing special about it at all.

"Got yourself a new weapon?" he asked somewhat sarcastically.

"No," she answered simply, "This is for you."

Valla held the crossbow out to him handle first, as if expecting him to take it. He could only stare dumbly back at her.

"I don't even know how to _use_ that thing," he finally grumbled irritably.

"That's why I'm going to teach you." She pushed the weapon a little closer to him, and her eyes showed a stubborn determination that promised she was not going to be convinced otherwise.

Lyndon wasn't quite ready to give in, however. "Why? What is the point?"

Valla was quiet for a moment, which surprised him. She seemed to be searching for the answer herself.

"Because you have to do _something_."

There was something odd in her voice, a hint of what sounded like desperation, but he could think of no reason she would be in such a state and passed it off as his imagination.

Lyndon was in no mood to learn anything new, but he knew from experience that if Valla wanted something to happen she possessed a stubbornness that was only marginally less impressive than her fighting prowess. It would likely be less painful for them both if he just played along. Besides, it couldn't possibly be _that_ much different from the crossbows he was used to.

He grabbed the weapon from her a little more roughly than he meant to, and he felt his finger catch on something near the trigger. The two prods suddenly sprang from the sides of the crossbow, unfolding to form the bow. He jumped at the unexpected movement, and he caught a smirk form briefly on Valla's face before she settled back into her regular grim expression.

"That button causes it to unfold," she explained matter-of-factly, and the fact that she didn't sound condescending somehow managed to make him feel even more embarrassed. "When you would like to fold it again, hold it down and _carefully_ push the prods back into place."

After giving her explanation Valla stared at him in silence, and after a few seconds of feeling slightly uncomfortable Lyndon realized she was expecting him to show his understanding. He felt along the stock until he found the button again, and after holding it down he stared at it helplessly for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to push it back into place when he lacked a second hand to do it with. A thought finally occurred to him and he pressed the back of one of the prods against his leg, and was relieved to find it snapped back into position with relative ease.

Evidently Valla was satisfied with his demonstration because she began speaking again.

"Firing it is mostly the same as a two-handed crossbow, but the string does not carry as much weight so you will need to be more precise. You will also need to be wary of recoil, since it is smaller and you will have nothing to steady it against."

Lyndon looked from her back down to the weapon in his hand and pressed the button again, watching it spring open with mild interest. "Wait," he spoke up incredulously, "You're telling me this thing is more difficult to fire, but it _has_ to be fired more accurately to even work? Why in the bloody Hells would anybody _choose_ to use this thing?"

Valla looked a bit offended and for a moment he thought she might snap at him, but when she spoke her voice was even. "The main advantage is the ability to fire in two directions at once."

Lyndon suddenly felt sick, and his phantom left arm burned a bit. "Wonderful. Even if I _do_ learn how to use this blasted thing I will still only be half as useful."

"That's... not _true_," Valla insisted, and her carefully controlled voice took on a distinctly angry tone, startling Lyndon out of the dark thoughts he had begun to fall into. She seemed somewhat embarrassed by the outburst, taking a moment to regain her composure before speaking again. "If we find you a good quiver it will not make a difference."

Lyndon wasn't quite sure how a quiver could possibly make up for a missing appendage, but questioning her required more energy than he was willing to expend so he settled for making a noncommittal "hmph" in response.

The sun finally disappeared below the horizon, leaving various lanterns hanging from wagon tops to send scattered light throughout the camp. Valla was standing in shadow, and the darkness made visible the dim, ever-present glow of her eyes. It tinted them a ghostly yellow, and Lyndon had the strange thought that he wasn't actually sure what color her eyes normally were.

He must have stared for a bit too long, because she titled her head at him curiously. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, suddenly feeling immensely tired. He used the back of his hand to rub at his eyes, still clutching the crossbow.

The cue was not lost on Valla, whose tone softened perceptibly. "It is late, we can do this another time. You should rest if you are tired."

Lyndon always felt tired, but decided it wasn't worth mentioning. He started to get to his feet, but lost his balance and pitched forward, dropping the weapon as he flailed to keep from falling on his face. Valla caught his shoulder and held him upright with a strength that someone of her small stature should not have possessed.

Even after he steadied himself, she kept her hand on his shoulder, looking him over with visible concern. Lyndon tried to smile, but it was strained and he was certain she would notice. He tried to think of something clever to say to alleviate the tension but he felt as if a fog clouded his mind and kept any of his thoughts from connecting. He eventually gave up and pulled away from her wordlessly, turning to drag his tired body over toward his tent.

Valla followed, perhaps worried he might stumble, and it wasn't until he arrived at his tent and turned to bid her goodnight that he noticed she was carrying the forgotten hand crossbow, neatly folded and free from any dirt he would have expected it to accumulate in the fall. As soon as he gave her his attention she held it out to him expectantly.

This time he took the offered weapon after only a second's hesitation.

Valla nodded to him. "Rest well," she told him sincerely before heading toward the edge of camp. He assumed she had volunteered for first watch, as she often did.

Lyndon had been struggling to fall asleep for weeks now, and as soon as he laid down he knew tonight would be no different. He held the crossbow in his hand, opening and closing it again and again, listening to the oddly satisfying noise of the gears grinding together as it sprung outward. It occurred to him he might be wearing it out, but he didn't much care at the moment.

His thumb drifted along the stock and he felt a slight indentation he had not noticed initially. Pulling the crossbow closer to his face, he noticed a carving along the bottom. It was well worn, but now that he looked closely he could clearly see that is spelled "Valla."

Lyndon took a moment to inspect the entire weapon more thoroughly, and noticed that the wood looked worn with age but well maintained. This crossbow was both old and cared for.

Suddenly feeling guilty for having abused it so, Lyndon carefully folded the prods back down and placed the weapon gently on his pack to keep it from touching the ground. He stared at it for a long while, wondering where it had come from and what significance it held to its previous owner. Before long he had drifted into an uneasy slumber.


	4. Future

The battle had been easy, a simple skirmish with a few straggling demons, but that did not mean they could slack on equipment upkeep. Valla stood near Haedrig's forge, carefully inspecting the delicate gears of her crossbow for damage while the blacksmith hammered out any dents he could find in the chest piece she had handed him. Between hammer falls she heard approaching footsteps, and glanced up to see Myriam coming towards them, smiling as always. Valla bristled a bit upon spotting the woman; she understood why the mystic kept her secrets - she had explained the disaster that had occurred the one time she tried to change the future - but it was difficult not to be at least a _little_ angry with her when she had just watched Lyndon nearly cry in frustration over failing to tie his own boots.

Haedrig looked up and nodded briefly at Myriam before focusing back on his forge, and she returned the gesture with a pleasant smile. She then turned to Valla, who was currently eyeing her warily.

"Greetings celsa," Myriam said in an aggravatingly cheerful tone, "I take it the fighting went well?"

"Yes," Valla answered shortly.

"Good," Myriam replied casually, as if she had already anticipated the answer. "And how fairs our resident scoundrel?"

Valla looked her over carefully, trying to discern what information the older woman was looking for, but failing to read anything past that ever-present smile. "Why don't you ask him?"

Myriam's expression was unchanging. "Do you think he would answer me if I did?"

No, of course not. Lyndon was becoming increasingly agitated by everyone constantly asking about his well-being, and he had always found Myriam's prying particularly off-putting.

Valla turned her attention back to the crossbow in her hands, running her fingers over the gears as if to check them for damage, but not paying attention to the task. "He's... not well," she answered grimly, not quite sure how to put into words how he must have been feeling.

Lyndon was not taking as well to her lessons as she had hoped. He quickly became frustrated and unwilling to listen. She sometimes wondered if she should give up and leave him be, but the fact that he had the energy to complain so much meant he had to be feeling at least a _little_ better. Besides, she was loath to leave him alone to stew in his misery.

That he continued to seek out solitude concerned Valla greatly. Since she had known him Lyndon had always striven to be in the busiest place he could find, seemingly desperate to surround himself by other human beings. It didn't even seem to matter to him if they liked his company, as long as they were there.

But now he always made an effort to stay as far away from the others as he could manage, and was either angry or unresponsive when approached. There was a distinct wrongness to it all, and it made her increasingly distressed.

"Do not lose hope, celsa," Myriam said gently, breaking Valla out of her dark reverie. "Come with me, I have something to give to you."

Myriam began to head toward her wagon and Valla hesitated, wondering if she should follow. Despite everything, she knew Myriam did truly care for their little group, and anything she had to give her would almost certainly come in handy. Realizing pride would be a silly reason to turn down the woman's offer, Valla caught up to Myriam with a few quick strides and silently followed her to her caravan.

Strange blue balls of light hung on the branches of potted plants bordering the wagon, bright even in the light of midday. Valla examined them as she passed, wondering if magic or mechanics kept them lit, but she didn't bother to ask, having far more concerning matters to ponder.

Myriam stopped in front of a small table occupied by a large glass orb and a small vial. She carefully lifted the vial and held it out to Valla, smiling mischievously.

"This is for you, I know you will use it well!"

Valla took the offered vial, studying it curiously. It contained a purple liquid, likely a potion of some kind, but its purpose was unfamiliar to her. The top was sealed with a tight fitting cork.

"What is it?" she asked quizzically, tilting it to the side and watching the viscous fluid slowly flow along the inside of the glass container.

"You will learn at the time you need it," Myriam replied mysteriously, winking playfully.

Valla was not surprised by the vague response, but she had hoped for at least a little more insight into the potion's function. Whatever the case, Myriam's attitude suggested it was not cause for concern, and Valla did not feel it was worth wasting time trying to get more out of the enigmatic woman. She was unlikely to learn anything new, and there were more important things she could be doing.

Valla slipped the potion into her bag, making a mental note to examine it further when she had the time. "Thank you for the... gift, but I must go, I am expected elsewhere."

"Of course," Myriam replied sweetly, "Do say hello to Lyndon for me, won't you?"

Valla didn't bother to ask how the other woman knew where she was going.

* * *

><p>"You're aiming too low," Valla admonished sternly, "You need to compensate for the smaller draw weight by-"<p>

"_I know_," Lyndon snarled. The words came out harsher than he meant them to, but he was getting exceptionally sick of nothing working out like he expected it to. "I heard you the _first_ time."

Lyndon was trying, he truly was, but no matter what he did none of his shots would hit his target. He was having a far more difficult time adjusting to the feel of the new weapon than expected, and he had reached the end of his patience an hour ago. For any common citizen his marksmanship was still extraordinary, but for their situation it was not nearly enough; every shot needed to be perfect, or he would risk seriously injuring his companions in the chaos of a real fight.

"It's not my fault this weapon makes no Gods-damned _sense_," Lyndon added grumpily for good measure, glaring at the hand crossbow as if it were purposely sabotaging him.

Valla sighed, exasperation evident in her tone. Lyndon felt a small, sick sense of accomplishment at having pulled such a reaction out of the normally stoic demon hunter. He knew she was not to blame for any of this, but right now he would take whatever joy he could get. Frustration had smothered the more logical part of his mind.

"That is enough for today," Valla conceded, sounding oddly tired. "We can try again another time."

Valla made her way over to the tree Lyndon had been using as a target and begin picking up the fired bolts, examining each one to see if it could be reused. The tip had broken from one but the rest she carefully pocketed.

The two of them had wandered a ways from camp to avoid any stray bolts causing harm, and an uncomfortable silence settled between them as they made their way back. Now that he had a moment to calm down, Lyndon felt a bit guilty for having snapped. Teaching was not something Valla excelled at, but she had been trying. Not wanting them to part ways on a sour note, he decided a little conversation might ease the tension.

"What will you do when this is all over?" Lyndon asked casually, quickening his pace to walk beside her. "I was thinking, Westmarch needs a new king, right? And since I helped save it, I have a pretty good claim, don't you think?"

Lyndon smiled weakly, and Valla stared at him in evident disbelief. He wasn't sure why, it certainly wasn't the most outlandish thing he had ever said, but maybe it was because he had practically growled at her only a few minutes prior.

"Though I _suppose_ you can have it if you want," Lyndon continued as if Valla had engaged in the conversation. "You did do a _little_ more to help out, and it's not like I could _stop_ you. But I still expect a cushy job in the castle."

Valla rewarded him with the briefest flash of a smile before turning her attention forward. "The position is yours if you can acquire it. I have no desire to rule."

It had been far too long since Lyndon had engaged in any good banter, and despite everything he found himself feeling a bit more cheerful. Perhaps the day had not been a complete disaster after all.

"What _will_ you do then?" Lyndon pressed, wanting to hear more from her. "As good as you are at it, surely you cannot be planning on going around shooting things _forever_?"

He had meant it to be a lighthearted question, but the way Valla's face fell gave him the distinct impression he had asked something he should not have. It had sounded innocent enough to him, how could he possibly have screwed up _this_ time?

"Not forever, no," Valla answered tersely, "Only until I fall."

Well, there went his good mood. Lyndon wondered if it was exhausting always being so morbid.

Fighting was really all she knew, wasn't it? That struck him as terribly sad, and he knew a few things about sadness. Maybe if the world ever recovered from this chaos she would let him teach her a few things that didn't directly relate to death. Though she would probably be resistant to the idea, and she might get a bit snippy with him and-

Wait.

_Wait_.

That was... exactly what was happening here, wasn't it? Fighting was all Valla knew, and she was trying her hardest to share it with him. And ever since she had started, Lyndon had been nothing but ornery and ungrateful. What kind of ass did that make him?

Despite the initial guilt, the thought made Lyndon feel oddly better about everything. Maybe it was the realization that she cared enough to keep trying, even if he gave her nothing but grief. His arm still hurt and his situation was still miserable, but he suddenly felt a bit less alone.


	5. Philophobia

Life wasn't what Lyndon would call good, but it was _better_. He was far from okay, but being alive was starting to sound more appealing than being a corpse, and that counted for something.

He still found himself wondering why he was allowed to live when so many innocent, no doubt more deserving individuals were slaughtered daily in the disasters that plagued every corner of their known world. Everywhere they went they were surrounded by death. It was a wonder to him that anyone could still believe in a loving god after everything they had suffered through.

Even so, bit by bit Lyndon's mood was improving, and he was beginning to believe that he would only get better from then on out. Unfortunately, as with so many other things, he was badly mistaken.

Lyndon was quietly pondering the merits of his own existence when he noticed Valla several yards away, returning to camp after having scouted ahead for potential threats. She pulled back her hood and shook her head, causing tresses of dark hair to fall haphazardly around her shoulders. He thought idly about how she would likely cut it soon, as it was getting longer than she liked.

Valla scanned her surroundings, and as she did she caught Lyndon's gaze for a brief moment, acknowledging him with a small quirk of her lips that represented the closest she usually got to a smile. Lyndon hadn't been consciously thinking about it but he noted that her eyes were hazel. They were unusually light, but oddly fitting somehow, and really quite beautiful.

Something in his mind shifted and he was suddenly flooded with emotion, leaving him dizzy and momentarily unable to breathe. Valla's attention had moved beyond him but he found himself unable to look away, having been assaulted by the horrifying realization that he was in love with her.

Fear gripped at his heart as memories of Rea leapt unbidden into his thoughts. Her rejection still stung deeply, and the idea of having to go through it all _again_ was more than he could handle. He couldn't do it, he wasn't strong enough.

He looked away, tried to bury it, tried to banish all thoughts of love into the corner of his mind where they had been hidden for so many years, but now that they had been unearthed they refused to be ignored. Perhaps if he had noticed sooner he could have stifled any budding emotions, but he had been so convinced of the blackness of his own heart that he been blind to his growing affections. Now he had fallen too far to have any hope of pulling himself back out.

Valla was his closest friend, and she had given him more than he could ever hope to return. She had been good to him when the rest of the world turned its back, and trusted him even when everyone advised her not to. She had many chances and ample reason to abandon him, but she had stayed with him through every manner of hell, both literal and figurative.

The thought of her pushing him away was devastating. His brother was dead, Rea had betrayed him, and he tried not to imagine what fate could have befallen their children. Valla was the only thing resembling a family he had left.

He couldn't risk it. Not now, not when he was only barely able to convince himself to get up in the morning. He _needed_ her support, and if that meant having to pretend just being near her didn't make his heart beat twice as fast then so be it.

She would probably see through him - she always did - but he had to try.

* * *

><p>Lyndon was avoiding her.<p>

Valla could not figure out why, but he would barely even look at her, and every time she tried to suggest he work on his crossbow aim he came up with an excuse. He was tired, his arm hurt, he had promised Myriam he would help her alphabetize her potions - _anything_ to avoid spending time with her. Something was wrong, and she could not pin him down long enough to convince him to tell her what it was.

He had been doing so well. He had even mustered the energy to start picking on Kormac again, and though she didn't enjoy seeing the two of them fight, it was oddly comforting to know he felt well enough to do it. But all of that progress was suddenly lost, and he had gone back to spending as little time among the others as possible, except when he was trying to prevent Valla from catching him alone.

Valla knew that despite all his efforts to act like he didn't care, Lyndon took the words of others to heart, and it was easy to hurt him with careless comments. She knew she wasn't very good at talking to people - her training as a demon hunter left little time to develop social skills - but she could usually tell if she said something that hurt or offended him. Yet as much as she thought about what she could have done to upset him, she could come up with nothing.

She felt like he was going somewhere dark, and she couldn't follow. She was terrified he would fall and no one would be there to catch him.

* * *

><p>Lyndon had never been so glad to spot a town in the distance. A town meant a chance to restock supplies, a real bed, and best of all, <em>alcohol<em>. Being sober had lost its appeal weeks ago.

The rest of the caravan only seemed interested in the supplies part; the artisans did not wish to leave their wagons unattended, while Valla, Eirena, and Kormac seemed to have little interest in actual beds and opted to stay with their other companions. However, no one made any effort to stop Lyndon when he announced his intentions to spend the night at the local inn. The one advantage of everyone pitying him, he supposed bitterly.

It was almost nightfall by the time they arrived, which suited Lyndon just fine. He barely paid attention to the actions of the others as they made their plans for the night; that would have required acknowledging the disapproving look he got from Valla as he made his way to the local tavern.

The town was fairly small and travelers were scarce with the world as it was, so there were few other patrons and the establishment was much _nicer_ than the ones he preferred to frequent. He was in no position to be picky though, and he quickly found himself the center of attention from locals who wanted news from the outside world.

A young, pleasantly busty barmaid took a particular interest in him, and listened in fascination as he regaled her with tales of his heroic exploits. She even cried when he told her about how he had lost his arm protecting a group of blind orphans from a terrible, twenty-foot tall demon. The other locals grew bored of him, but she stayed and continued to listen to his increasingly outlandish stories in between supplying him with mugs of ale.

It took no effort at all to convince her to come to the inn with him, even drunk as he was. He couldn't even remember her name, but it didn't matter; it wasn't her he thought of as he cried out in ecstasy.

His satisfaction lasted only a handful of minutes before his sinking self-hatred returned in force. What was he _doing_? Was he really so pathetic that the only women he could bed were those who were too ignorant to know any better? And how disgusting was he for taking advantage of that? What would Valla think if she knew?

The last thought made him physically ill, and he suddenly needed to get out of there, to get away from the sleeping reminder of his weakness. He stumbled out of the room, head spinning and stomach threatening to reject its contents. When he stepped outside he noticed a faint glow on the horizon, signaling that the sun was almost ready to rise. How long had he been drinking?

Lyndon blearily made his way toward his companions' camp, focused on the thought of collapsing into his tent and sleeping for eternity. A cold breeze caused him to shiver, and he realized he had managed to leave the inn without his shirt. Going back for it sounded like a monumental effort, so he opted to give up on the garment. He would find a new one.

The late hour meant that the streets were eerily silent, but Lyndon was glad there was no one about to witness his walk of shame. If his luck held out, maybe he could make it all the way there without having to endure any judgmental stares. Then again, luck had never been particularly kind to him.

Given his tendency to sleep for as long as he was allowed, Lyndon sometimes forgot how unusually early Valla would wake. She would always be packed and ready to go before anyone else had even risen. Some nights he wondered if she had slept at all.

It should not have been a surprise to him, then, that she was already awake, kneeling in front of her wolf and seemingly whispering something to the creature. The wolf noticed him first, suddenly perking up and turning away from his master to stare him down.

Upon noticing the animal's reaction Valla's gaze quickly shot up, and though it was still fairly dark his eyes had adjusted well enough to see her expression of surprise. She looked him over and frowned, a clear disapproval in her eyes that made him feel sick all over again. She said nothing, just silently watched him with a look of distaste.

She was disgusted by him. And why wouldn't she be? He was trash. All he did was hurt anyone who tried to get close to him. He didn't even deserve to be _near_ her, let alone any of the other fantasies that filled his waking thoughts.

Lyndon hastily broke eye contact and hurried past her to his tent, collapsing into a miserable heap on the pile of furs that lined the bottom. He buried himself under the warm coverings, desperately trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the ache in his heart.


End file.
